The Devil's Contract
by Ghost-Tongued
Summary: HIRUMA/MAMORI; The closer they get to the Christmas Bowl, the more violent their team captain and team manager seem get with one another. Only those who best understand the two are the ones who are sitting back in amused anticipation.


**Title: **The Devil's Contract  
**Author: **ShadowDemon-Gengar  
**Character Pairings: **Hiruma/Mamori  
**Genre: **Romance/Drama  
**Rating: **T  
**Warnings: **Profanity; Hiruma's Infamous Vulgarity; Sexual Tension  
**Disclaimers: **I own nothing Eyeshield 21.  
**Summary: **The closer they get to the Christmas Bowl, the more violent their team captain and team manager seem get with one another. Only those who best understand the two are the ones who are sitting back in amused anticipation.

**Recommendation(s): Keep story's width at "3/4"; adjustment settings are at the top-right corner of the site, where the different font styles and sizes are located. "3/4" is the original width that this story was written in.**

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, I've recycled "Devil's Demand" into "The Devil's Contract" because I actually did enjoy this the first time and didn't want to scrap it. However, I've decided to abandon my attempt to continue Rinpu's awesome one-shot, "Devil's Due", because other than the kiss, there was nothing else that would tie "Devil's Demand" to it and I did not like that; I wanted to pay ultimate tribute to the one-shot, but I guess the most I can do to accomplish that is just another one-shot.

Anyway, please, I love and adore concrit, guys, no matter how small or how harsh it might be, so don't be afraid to give me your honest opinions! I can't improve or correct things if I don't know.

* * *

**Chapter I**

The sun slowly started sinking down behind the treetops, casting its burning gold, yellow, and red hues across the darkening sky, warning that nightfall was quickly approaching. Deimon High School's final bell had rung hours ago, but there was still activity on the grounds. The school's American Football team remained for after-school practice, dedicating themselves to honing and strengthening their skills and abilities . . . with the help of merciless motivation from their captain.

"Hiruma, would you _stop_ it already?" Mamori admonished, her frustration reaching its peak as she stomped over to the cackling quarterback. He was lying on his stomach in the field's freshly cut grass, positioned behind an _XM-25 Grenade Launcher_ and peering through its scope. He was clearly taking aim on the five that made up the defensive line, preying on their fatigue as they struggled to keep running around the asphalted track.

"Hey, you fuckers, did I say you could slow down?!" he shouted, blatantly ignoring her. He fired off a few grenade rounds and the field started exploding behind the linemen, giving them the sudden burst of inspiration they needed to run faster.

"Hiruma!" she snapped, giving his leg an abrupt kick to get his attention. She crossed her arms, glaring down at him when he glanced up at her in irritation, drawling, "Can't you do anything else besides fucking nanny-ing? Go gorge yourself on creampuffs or something."

When he turned back to peer through the weapon's scope, she took that opportunity to stoop down and snatch said weapon from his hands. She straightened again and braced the butt of the gun against her hip. She calmly watched him as he stared into his empty hands.

Then, with an annoyed grunt, he slowly picked himself up from the ground. She watched him as he took his time, lightly dusting off the front of his red-and-white uniform, wiping the sweat from his face, and dislodging any moisture and dirt from his thick, blond spikes of hair by pushing his lean hands through them.

However, she wasn't fazed in the least by the offhandedness in his actions. It was obviously meant to unnerve her, him being so nonchalant, but she was used to most of his tricks, often because she was the one who brought them to the surface.

"You know," he said finally, looking up in her direction and leveling her with a narrowed glare, "maybe you haven't been keeping up with the rest of us, being as fucking clueless as you usually are, but the Christmas Bowl is only a couple of months away, and before we can get there, we have to get past some opponents that make journeying through all nine circles of Hell look easy. We can't _afford_ to slack off, not for even a _second_. So . . . give it back, fucking manager."

He held out a long-fingered hand, silently demanding the return of his weapon.

In response, she simply tucked the warm, black steel behind her back and stood up straighter in an attempt to show her boldness, even though her smaller stature remained towered over by his taller, broader physique.

She didn't back down when his emerald-green eyes narrowed tighter, and she prayed for patience as she spoke as gently as she could. Playing the neutral party tended to help in these sorts of tense situations. Well . . . _she_ thought so, anyway. It was definitely the better option to the usual butting of heads that ended with broken cleaning tools and steaming bullet holes in the walls.

"Hiruma, believe me, I can feel the pressure, too. Really, I want us to play at Christmas Bowl just as much as you do –"

"Then stop interfering!" he interrupted harshly, his gaze hard with frustration. "We can't improve if you keep playing fucking 'mother hen' every time one of the brats gets a bruise or a scrape!"

If her prayer for patience had been answered, she didn't acknowledge it. She felt the familiar rise of anger build up in her chest, and before she knew it, she was practically toe-to-toe with him, jabbing a finger into his chest as she glared up at him. "And that improvement will be for nothing if someone gets injured during practice! Can't you see how exhausted they are? Give them a break already! They're doing the best they can!"

She ended her rant with an extra, sharp jab to his chest. Her heart continued to pump anger through her veins as she refused to divert her glare away from his sharp, narrow features.

However, even through her irritability . . . she slowly become aware of just how close she actually was to him . . .

His shadow had engulfed her, his body blocking out the setting sun, the field, and the rest of her surroundings. She could even scent the sweat of a hard day's practice, the grass and dirt had all but be rolled around in, and the raw gunpowder.

At this realization, she felt her courage shy away and was replaced by extreme nervousness and self-consciousness . . .

_"Ho–o_ _. . . ?"_

Her breath caught when he slowly leaned in, bringing his face so close to hers that she could feel his hot breath on her skin. A small but wicked grin quirked the corners of his lips, flashing a brief amount of frighteningly sharp teeth at her.

"And what are you going to do, damn manager," he spoke softly, his emerald-green eyes having a fierce hold on her crystal-blue ones, "if I don't want to listen to you . . . ? Going to use the powers of the disciplinary committee and kick me off the team?"

Her heart was pounding harder than before . . . but for completely different reasons. She couldn't say anything as she stared at him, wide-eyed.

Why was she being so affected by his nearness? It wasn't as if he hadn't invaded her personal space before . . . and he was starting to do a lot of it lately.

Unbearably uncomfortable, confused, and indignant with Hiruma lazily flexing his power over the team, reminding her just who was in control; reminding her that she could voice her opinions all she wanted, but it was decision that counted in the end.

Face burning, she roughly shoved the weight of the grenade launcher into his chest, taking satisfaction in hearing his winded grunt before she turned on her heel and quickly made her way off the field.

* * *

He watched her storm off through the gate, disappearing around the corner and through the shield of autumn-colored trees. He smirked, feeling a twinge of discomfort in his chest where she'd practically slammed the gun into him, using such force that he felt it even through his protective gear. The little devil in him was cackling insanely, urging him to pull out his 'little black book' and write down something like _'__Disciplinarily Committee Officer psychically assaults innocent student for no apparent reason.'_

"You know, you really should stop harassing her," spoke a gruff voice from behind him, mild amusement undisguised in its deep tone.

He gave a light snort in response, annoyance coming to the forefront in his voice as he idly examined his gun. "Shut the up, fucking old man. You should be more concerned about having a heart attack or breaking a hip during the upcoming games rather than sticking your nose in other people's business. Besides . . . she started it."

He suddenly grinned, a splitting of his features that bared alarmingly shark-like teeth to the world. He glanced over his shoulder and regarded the team's mohawk-wielding kicker with a look of innocence that couldn't be seen as anything less than unholy.

"By the way, you're my witness to her fucking abusing me with a deadly weapon."


End file.
